She Needed Him. I Needed a Divorce

When my husband's childhood friend came back to New York, he made her his personal assistant. After that, every promise he made to me came with an unspoken condition: unless Bianca needed him first. When I finally asked why being his wife always meant coming second, Luca Moretti gave me the same answer. “Her father took a bullet for mine, Elena. You know what that debt means to my family.” He was the Don. Apparently, loyalty was sacred—unless it was owed to the woman he had married. So I started learning how to get by without him. It wasn't until that night that the pain in my abdomen became so severe I collapsed beside the coffee table. I used the last of my strength to call for an ambulance. At the hospital, a doctor told me I was six weeks pregnant. My progesterone was very low, and the bleeding wasn't stopping. For a few seconds, I could only stare at her. Then I instinctively reached for my phone and called Luca. “Luca, the doctor just told me I'm pregnant, but…” “Elena, if this is another way of getting me away from Bianca, stop. She needs me right now.” The line went dead before I could finish a single sentence. The bleeding grew worse. The doctor said they couldn't safely wait any longer and recommended surgery. When I woke up, she told me I had lost the pregnancy. A little later, Bianca posted an Instagram story. First wisdom tooth out. One little text and he came running. He hasn't left my side. In the photograph, Luca was bending over her chair, holding an ice pack against her cheek. I looked at the picture until the screen went dark. Thirty minutes later, my phone lit up again. Luca asked me if I had learned to be as forgiving as a Donna should be. Instead, I unpinned his conversation and opened the number of a divorce attorney. I wasn't going to spend the rest of my life waiting for a man to decide I mattered. The countdown had begun. Chapter 1 I checked myself out of the hospital the next morning. At home, the broken vase was still scattered beside the coffee table. I crouched down and picked up the pieces one at a time. My lower abdomen ached, forcing me to move slowly. With the last shard in my hand, I stopped. This was where I had collapsed the night before, frightened I might not wake up. And I was still the one cleaning up afterward. The lock clicked. Luca came in wearing yesterday's shirt, shadows beneath his eyes. I glanced up at him. “Bianca's appointment ran late,” he said, setting down his keys. “I got her settled, then slept at the office for a few hours.” I nodded. I didn't ask him anything. Luca looked at the garbage bag in my hand. “What actually happened last night?” During our first year of marriage, I'd once woken with a fever and found Luca sitting beside me. He'd held the glass while I drank because my hands were shaking. “Wake me next time,” he'd said. “You don't have to get through it alone.” Last night, that was the man I'd thought I was calling. “I needed you,” I said. “You were sure I was just jealous, and you hung up.” His expression changed. To him, that settled it. Another unnecessary scene, another attempt to compete with Bianca. “You need to be more independent, Elena. And a little more generous. Her father died keeping mine alive. I won't turn my back on her because you don't like the attention she gets.” I watched him for a few seconds. Then I smiled, just enough to end the conversation. “All right.” He looked surprised. I had clearly skipped the argument he was preparing to win. He drew breath, but his phone chimed before he could speak. He looked down immediately. When he recorded his reply, his voice softened. “Take the medication on schedule, even if the pain's better. Nothing too hot or spicy for a couple of days.” He paused, then added, “I've pushed the meeting with the shipping partners back two days. Stay home and rest.” Bianca, of course. I lowered my eyes. Apparently, independence was a lesson only his wife needed to learn. Chapter 2 Luca finished his message and went into the bedroom. I stayed beside the table until the door closed, my phone in my hand. I'd saved an attorney's number at the hospital. Now I called it. “I'd like to speak to someone about a divorce.” My voice shook on the last word. I gave the receptionist my name and arranged a consultation. The next morning, my attorney, Claire Bennett, called. “I want to get the process started as quickly as possible,” I told her. “Understood. I'll draft a proposed settlement based on what we discussed.” After we hung up, I went back to the hospital for a checkup. The doctor reviewed my results. “You're still a little anemic. Try not to overdo things. Rest as much as you can.” I nodded. She glanced toward the door. “Is your husband here? It would help to go over the postoperative instructions with whoever's supporting you at home.” “He's busy.” She hesitated, then handed me the report without asking anything else. “Take your medication as directed. If anything worries you, call us.” Outside her office, a pregnant woman was walking slowly along the corridor. Her husband carried her paperwork in one hand and kept the other hovering near her lower back. He was quietly repeating the instructions the doctor had just given them, making sure he remembered everything. My phone vibrated. Dinner at my parents' tonight. Be there before six. Luca hadn't asked whether I was still in pain. He hadn't mentioned the hospital again. At five-thirty, I arrived at the Moretti estate. His mother frowned as soon as she saw me. “You've lost weight. And you're so pale.” She studied my face, then sighed. “I keep telling you to look after yourself. Three years married and still no baby. You can't keep running yourself down.” I lowered my eyes. My hand drifted toward my abdomen before I stopped it. She didn't know. A few days ago, there had been a baby. Six weeks. That was all the time we'd had. By the time I learned the baby existed, I was already losing it. “My appetite hasn't been great,” I said, dropping my hand. Luca's mother moved on without noticing. “I invited Bianca too. Luca said she had a tooth out. I made something soft she could manage.” Bianca arrived a few minutes later, her cheek still slightly swollen. “Mrs. Moretti, you really didn't have to go to all this trouble.” She smiled as she took off her coat. “I only sent Luca a quick message the other night. I never expected him to drop everything and come.” His mother ushered her to a chair. “You were in pain and all alone. Of course someone needed to look after you. The least we can do is feed you.” I looked down into my soup. So being in pain and alone did mean someone ought to come. Halfway through dinner, his mother turned back to me. “You two really should start thinking seriously about a baby. You're still young. Get your strength up and give yourselves the best chance.” My fork stopped. After a few seconds, I looked at Luca. “What if I already had been pregnant?” The table fell silent. Luca's head came up sharply. Bianca laughed before he could say anything. “Elena, don't tease her about that. She'll get her hopes up.” His mother frowned. “That isn't something to joke about.” I wasn't smiling. Luca stared at me, and then his face hardened. “Enough, Elena.” “I've explained what happened the other night. Don't say something like that just to get a reaction.” I put down my fork. “Please don't ask me about having a baby again.” Luca frowned. “Elena—” “I came for dinner, not to be told I'm failing at something you know nothing about.” His mother stared at me. My hands were trembling beneath the table. I picked up my bag before anyone could start explaining what I should or shouldn't feel. “Thank you for dinner. I'll wait outside.” I took my coat from the hall and walked out. The drive home was silent until the estate was far behind us. “Don't joke about being pregnant again,” Luca said. I looked out the window. “And I've explained about Bianca. She's my assistant. We've known each other since we were kids. Looking after her isn't a crime.” “Mm.” He glanced at me, unsettled by how little I had to say. Streetlights slid across the glass. I had no desire to keep talking about it. What he thought, what he believed—it no longer changed what I needed to do. Chapter 3 Over the next three days, Luca began to notice something was different. I used to get up half an hour before him so breakfast would be ready when he left at eight. At noon, I'd ask whether he'd eaten. If he wasn't home by eleven, there would be at least two messages from me on his phone. Now I did none of it. On the fourth evening, he came home before eight for the first time in months. He looked straight at me, seated at the desk with a stack of contracts for my design studio. “Is your phone broken?” “No.” I didn't look up. “Then why haven't you texted me all day?” My pen paused. “You've muted my messages. Does it make a difference whether I send them?” He went still. “I mute notifications so I can work without being interrupted. It isn't an excuse to take shots at me.” “I'm not.” I returned to the contract. “I just think you were right. Adults have lives of their own. We don't need to organize everything around each other.” For once, Luca had no immediate answer. A few seconds later, he went into the bathroom, jaw tight. Soon I heard the shower. A new email appeared on my laptop. Claire had sent the draft settlement. At the bottom, she'd added a note: Read this over. If you're comfortable with the terms, it may help to speak with your husband before we proceed. I stared at the sentence for a long time. I no longer wanted to tell him about the baby. But I could at least tell him, face-to-face, that our marriage was over. The bathroom door opened. “Luca.” He rubbed a towel through his hair. “What?” “We need to—” His phone rang. He answered and put it on speaker without thinking. “Luca? My gum's bleeding again.” His brow tightened. “How much?” “I'm not sure. A little on the gauze.” Bianca's voice grew smaller. “I'm home alone. It's scaring me.” He set the towel down. “Don't panic. I'll come take a look.” He ended the call and reached for his jacket. “She said it was only a little blood,” I said. “She just had surgery. You don't take chances with a wound.” Then he seemed to remember me. “What were you going to say?” Before I could answer, he picked up his keys. “Never mind. It can wait until I get back.” The door shut. I replied to Claire. The terms are fine. Let's proceed. For a while, I sat very still. Then I looked at my left hand. I'd worn that ring for three years. In the shower. While cooking. Even when my fingers swelled and the band hurt. I'd believed that as long as it stayed there, Luca and I were still building a life together. Now I worked it gently over my knuckle. When it came free, a deep pale groove remained. I placed the ring in the drawer beside my discharge report. Three years of marriage, and the final decision was as quiet as taking off a ring. At one in the morning, Luca still wasn't home. Once, I would have texted to ask when he was coming back. That night, I closed my laptop and switched off the living-room lights. I didn't ask where he was. I didn't leave a lamp on. For the first time, it made no difference whether he came home at all. Chapter 4 On Saturday morning, I went back for my final scheduled follow-up. The doctor reviewed the ultrasound. “You're recovering, but this has taken a toll. Give yourself at least a month to rest and get your strength back.” She handed me the report. “Before trying again, it would be worth coming in with your husband so we can discuss everything together.” “There won't be a next time,” I said quietly. She paused. Then she let the subject go. I sat in the hospital lobby for a long time afterward. Nearby, a man held a newborn. Every tiny cry sent him fumbling, anxious to find out what the baby needed. I thought about the child who had been with me for only six weeks. So small. I'd barely had time to understand that there was someone to love. And on the day I lost that child, the father was holding an ice pack against another woman's face. From the hospital, I went to Claire's office. Two copies of the settlement lay on her desk. She pushed one toward me. I picked up the pen and signed my name. “Would you like me to contact him?” she asked. “No. I'll send him his copy.” She kept one for the file. I slid the other into a document envelope. After three years, we hadn't even managed a conversation about the end. At home, I put my wedding ring in the envelope with the signed agreement and booked a same-day courier to Luca's office. This was his personal copy; Claire would handle the formal filing and service. “Please make sure he gets it himself,” I told the courier. When the door closed, I went to pack. I had decided to leave; all that remained was putting my belongings in a suitcase. Across town, at Moretti Holdings, Bianca carried a cup of coffee into Luca's office. “Thank you for taking me back to the clinic so late last night.” She set it on his desk and smiled. “It turned out to be nothing. I hope Elena doesn't find out and get upset again.” Luca frowned but said nothing. Bianca kept going. “She really seems to have a problem with me. You've already got enough to deal with without having to manage her moods too.” A knock interrupted her. His secretary came in carrying the courier envelope. “Hand delivery for you, Don Moretti.” Bianca glanced at the label. “Elena sent it here? How dramatic. What could possibly be so urgent?” Luca's expression cooled. He remembered me at his mother's table, my face almost bloodless. “Don't speak about her like that.” Bianca blinked. “I was only joking.” “She hasn't been well. Stop making her the punch line.” He reached for the envelope. “And from now on, deal with your personal errands yourself. Call me if there's a real emergency.” Her smile stiffened. Luca tore open the seal. My ring slipped out and struck the desk with a small, clear sound. His hand stopped. He had put it on my finger himself. In three years, he'd almost never seen me without it. He pulled out the papers. MARITAL SETTLEMENT AGREEMENT. At the bottom, beneath the terms, was my signature. Elena Hart. His phone rang before he could turn the page. He answered automatically. “Mr. Moretti? This is the postoperative care nurse at St. Catherine's. Elena listed you as her support contact and authorized us to discuss her recovery. We couldn't reach her this afternoon. Has she had any more bleeding since the miscarriage?” The paper crumpled in his hand. “The what?” Bianca had gone very still beside the desk. The nurse repeated the word, gently this time. And for the first time in his life, the Don of the Moretti family couldn't make himself speak.